


You Belong With Me

by rohpsohpic



Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: AND THEY WERE NEXT DOOR NEIGHBORS, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, F/F, Mutual Pining, also there is prom, and sana is a cheerleader, class of 2020, club penguin prom, mina is a band kid, oh and mina has a dog, so i guess this is also a covid-19 au, social distancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:47:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24488470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rohpsohpic/pseuds/rohpsohpic
Summary: Mina's senior year is cut short when her high school closes amid a pandemic. An unforeseen side effect of everything being in limbo is that now Mina has more time to pine after cheer captain and next door neighbor Sana Minatozaki.Or: The social distancing high school girl next door love story no one asked for.
Relationships: Minatozaki Sana/Myoui Mina, Minor Kang Daniel/Park Jisoo | Jihyo - Relationship
Comments: 29
Kudos: 287
Collections: Girl Group Jukebox (Round 2)





	You Belong With Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for GG Jukebox Round 2, inspired by "You Belong With Me" by Taylor Swift

Mina is charcoal sketching with her knees pulled up—in bed, which hadn’t sounded like such a horrible idea until it was already too late to stop. Two words: Charcoal. Everywhere. Still, the girl perseveres, layering up the soft black pencil until the moon-faced drumheads and stalky cymbals begin to look recognizable and shading the edges until they gleam dramatically just like the silver drum kit back in the band room. When she’s done, Mina holds it for a disgustingly long moment, just soaking it in as the last strains of “Lion Heart” vanish from her CD player. It’s strange. A week ago, she was so caught up in jazz combo, and now it’s gone. With schools closed indefinitely, she doesn’t know when she’ll ever see that drum kit again.  _ If _ she ever sees it again.

On that terrifying note, Mina flips her sketchbook to a clean page and tosses it onto her duvet, flopping back in bed with her hands stained past her wrists. She’s a senior. She shouldn’t be so bothered by this. She’s going to UT Austin in the fall, and if she’s being honest, before the pandemic, she was almost impatient for it. That’s what being a senior is. At least, that’s what it was supposed to be. Mina’s toes brush against the weight of the sketchbook, and she feels that familiar sense of defeat. Of course she always knew that they would have to say their goodbyes eventually, but waiting for graduation in June and being closed out of school in the middle of March during a pandemic are two very different things. It feels like she hasn’t been given the chance to say goodbye at all.

In the brief silence, she picks up on the sound of someone talking rapidly outside. Mina is about to pass it off as someone on a walk before she realizes that it’s way too loud to be coming from the street. She sits up and glances out the window and, due to sheer proximity, sees Sana immediately.

It’s hard, truly difficult, to find an adjective to describe Sana Minatozaki, Mina’s neighbor of five years. Objectively, it’s much easier to say that everyone loves her, and it’s not because she’s the cheerleading captain but because she’s Sana Minatozaki. Actually, given that Sana is possibly the single clumsiest person that Mina has ever met, it’s more likely that Sana is cheer captain  _ because _ she’s Sana to begin with. She gives out hugs like they’re instinctive, and she picks other people’s trash off the floor without thinking twice about it, and she can probably list the entire student body by name. Back when Sana first moved in, she had shown up at Mina’s doorstep to introduce herself with a frilly pink apron and a batch of warm cookies. Of course, since then, their lives have remained largely separate—Mina is pretty sure that the last time they had a real conversation was also in middle school, back when they rode the same bus—but Mina still knows enough about her neighbor to know that Sana is the kind of person who always, always, always has a smile to go around, so it’s legitimately alarming when Mina sees into Sana’s adjacent window and Sana looks  _ frustrated _ .

Mina jolts, unsure what to do. She’s not trying to eavesdrop, but it’s impossible to miss the clipped rise and fall of Sana’s voice, so unlike the way Sana usually speaks, now that Mina has recognized it as hers. Sana is pacing around with her phone pressed to her ear, though it quickly becomes clear that even Sana isn’t used to her own pacing, so it’s really more of an angry meandering around her room. Before Mina can decide whether she should say something or pull her curtains shut, the person on the other end of the phone hangs up first, and Sana stares at it for a long moment before flinging it onto her bed and letting out a groan. When she looks up, they make eye contact, and Mina reaches for her sketchbook without thinking.

_ You ok? _

Sana hasn’t stopped staring at her, and Mina has to bat down a wave of prickling doubt that threatens to wash over her. It’s not the first time they’ve seen each other like this. There was one week when they were kids that Sana had the brilliant idea for them to run a tin can telephone between the windows, but that was quickly put to an end when Sana accidentally dropped her end of the line one day and it scraped Mina’s brother while he was taking out the trash. That was also the last time they tried to make any kind of advanced communication between their two houses. Now, more and more often, they just keep their curtains closed. Today is an anomaly, really: Mina had pulled back her curtains to let in a little light, and Sana had opened her entire window, presumably to get a little air. Honestly, given the privacy issues Mina doesn’t know who would construct two houses where the bedroom windows align with as frightening accuracy as theirs do; maybe it would make sense if the universe had destined for them to be best friends or something of the sort, but they’re not, and sometimes she feels like the whole next door neighbor thing has been wasted on them. When Sana sees the sketchbook, she laughs once, almost incredulously. Some of the anger leaks out of her like a balloon, and she searches her room for something to write with. Finding a legal pad in her lemon-colored nightstand, Sana plants herself in front of the window and responds in big rounded letters.

_ TiRED of DRAMA _

Mina gets it, kind of. Not drama but the tiredness of it all. She doesn’t know how to articulate it. Sana is a cheerleading captain; Mina wonders, briefly, what Sana’s thoughts are on the whole situation, if she, too, feels like things have been cut short. She can’t ask that. It’s not even a question. There are too many loose ends, and the entire senior class knows that. Instead, Mina writes back with something woefully simple.

_ Sorry :( _

Of course, that doesn’t really cover it at all. Sana shrugs helplessly, like she already knows.

Mina flips the page and sets the sketchbook back down in her lap, thoughtful. She thinks about what she wished someone would say to her when the jazz concert was canceled a week ago and they didn’t find out until it was already the end of their last rehearsal. She doesn’t want to make false promises, especially when the future’s so up in the air. She thinks what everyone wants, really, is a word of encouragement to tide them over in the meantime. With that in mind, she tries a new tactic to cheer up her neighbor.

_ I love you. _

When she looks up, Sana has already closed the window and drawn her curtains.

  
  
  


It’s no secret that Sana has been pining after Jihyo Park since the beginning of time. Technically, they’re co-captains of the cheerleading team, so they’re together all the time by virtue of their occupation. It’s pretty impossible to miss the look on Sana’s face whenever she and Jihyo are out of uniform; it’s like puppy love, almost. As for how Jihyo feels, well, Jihyo is dating quarterback Daniel Kang, has been since junior year, and they are the star couple of the school. They’re pretty impossible to miss: Daniel drives them to school every day in a big red convertible; Jihyo gives Daniel a proud kiss every time he makes a touchdown; and last month, on Jihyo’s birthday, Daniel serenaded her in the cafeteria with a bell kit he stole from the band room. He put it back when he was done, of course. Mina has never met either of them personally, except for maybe when she bumped into Daniel while he was returning the bell kit, but she doesn’t think they’re bad people. Sometimes, when Mina is drumming in the stands, she sees the way Daniel grins, almost nervously, when he goes to greet his girlfriend, or the way Jihyo cheers louder than anyone when Daniel catches the ball, or the way they make cute faces at each other when there’s nothing happening in the game. It’s sweet, the way Mina imagines every perfect high school movie couple to be, so sweet it’s both fascinating and inexplicably painful to watch.

Sometimes, Mina sees Sana’s face in those moments, uncharacteristically blank and unreadable, and she doesn’t feel so unlucky to have never fallen in love like that.

  
  
  


Mina goes to the grocery store in her pajamas. It’s not because she’s sick, because she’s not sick; it’s actually the opposite. She’s perfectly fine, and wearing pajamas like a normal high school senior seems like the easiest way to get that message across. Their neighborhood is near a retirement community, and with most kids effectively grounded, Mina is always, always the only person at the grocery store under thirty years old. People are scared. With her own teenagerdom in mind, Mina feels a certain pressure when it comes to choosing her clothing so that she doesn’t terrify anyone. She imagines that she looks about as intimidating as a tomato in her fuzzy red pajama pants and commemorative band camp T-shirt.

Her mother is insistent on making milk bread this week, so today, along with the regular fruits and vegetables, Mina is on a quest to find yeast. She circles the entire store twice before she finds the tiny space where the instant yeast is shelved; there’s only one strip left at the bottom of the box. Mina hesitates, then reaches for it and immediately bumps heads with someone who definitely wasn’t there two seconds ago.

“Sana!” she exclaims, springing backward. One hand immediately flies up to clutch her forehead before she remembers not to touch her face, but it’s her heart that’s pounding way too fast. It feels like a jumpscare. Sana herself has somehow fallen backward and landed on the ground with an  _ oof _ . “Why are you here?”

“Why am I at the grocery store?” Sana asks dazedly.

“No, I mean, why were you standing right there? You could have gotten—”

Mina cuts herself off. Sana looks up at her, her eyes clearing abruptly.

“I’m not sick, Mina,” Sana says.

“You can't know that,” Mina says, trying to get her heartbeat to slow down. “I’m sorry. It’s just—I—It’s dangerous out here. You can’t go around standing that close to people. You really  _ can't _ .”

Sana purses her lips. She’s still sitting on the floor, leaning back and propping herself up by her elbows. The panic ebbs slowly from Mina’s chest as she finally gets a good look at her. It’s weird seeing Sana at the grocery store and not at school or, well, through a window. She’s wearing the horn-rimmed prescription glasses that she would normally wear exclusively inside the house and a nice crossbody purse that Mina has never seen before.

“You’re not going to help me up?” Sana asks.

“We shouldn't,” Mina says. She thinks about her mom, her dad, her brother, her dog, and feels her insides twist sharply. "I couldn't."

“No, yes, I mean yeah, I get it,” Sana says. She pushes herself to her feet and nods her head almost comically, as if it is physical evidence of her understanding. “It’s okay. I figured we’re probably competitors anyway, if you’re also here for the yeast.”

She’s right. Neither of them make a move for the yeast.

“My mom wants to make milk bread,” Mina says.

“Milk bread? Really?” Sana says, her eyes lighting up. She looks at Mina like she’s trying to make sure that she’s being serious, then she says, “Okay, what if I buy you the yeast, and you let me have some of that milk bread when you’re done?”

Mina blinks. “What?”

“Your mom’s milk bread is amazing,” Sana says, and Mina is surprised to see a dreamy expression take over her face. She can’t remember when Sana even had her mom’s milk bread, and she feels awkward for being unable to conjure this memory after five years of living next to each other. “I can still remember how soft it is. Plus, we have enough yeast at home to last another week. Take it. I’ll pay.”

“No, I can pay,” Mina says quickly, scared that Sana might reach over again. She can't take that risk. Gingerly, Mina places the last strip of yeast into her basket. When Sana looks oddly hurt, Mina offers her a shaky smile. “I’ll tell my mom to make extra.”

Sana beams. That's really all it takes. That’s the last image Mina has of Sana in the grocery store before she goes to self-checkout. She weighs the apples and pears and daikon and edamame, and when she picks up the instant yeast, she suddenly remembers. One afternoon, back in middle school, while Mina was at ballet class and Sana was taking the bus home as usual, Sana had been locked out of her house because her parents were working late. Mina knows this story secondhand for the most part. She had shown up to Mina’s house, crying, and Mina’s mom had ushered her inside and let her watch cartoons and eat an entire loaf of milk bread all by herself. By the time Mina came back, Sana was already snoring on the couch.

Later, as her mom pulls not one but two pans of sweet, perfect milk bread out of the oven, Mina, fresh from the shower, perches on one of the kitchen stools and asks, “Why did you want to make milk bread, anyway?”

Her mom sets the pan on a wire rack and pulls off her oven mitts, bemused. “Well, if we can’t make milk bread, then who are we, really?”

  
  
  


There's a pink paper taped to Sana's window. Mina, who was about to close her curtains for the night, stops to look at it before she realizes that it's a message.

_ THANk you!!! _ is written in hurried, pretty letters, followed by a cartoony drawing of a loaf of bread. Mina feels relieved and jittery at the same time. Sana must have received the milk bread, so that's the end of that story; but then why does Mina feel like something is going to happen? Nothing ever happens, not with Mina, and definitely not with her and Sana. To expect otherwise would be a pointless exercise in heartache.

Mina closes the curtains, turns out the light, and crawls into bed.

  
  
  


Mina's brother Kai came back from Notre Dame a week before Mina's high school closed. He offers to drive her whenever she goes to the grocery store, but she always tells him to stay at home in order to minimize contact with other people. Sometimes it still surprises her when she sees him around the house; it feels like she hasn't seen him in years.

Kai is up early one morning reading a book on metaphysics at the kitchen counter. As Mina pulls dinner leftovers out of the fridge for her own breakfast, she says, "Good morning."

"Good morning," Kai replies, setting down the book. "I feel like I haven't seen you in years."

"Really?" Mina says, surprised. "That's what I was thinking too."

Kai wrinkles his nose. "You're still eating that with ketchup?"

Mina looks down to see that she's currently squeezing ketchup onto grilled fish and looks back up. She can eat ketchup with just about anything. "Yes."

"Nice to see that hasn't changed," Kai laughs. "Do you still put it on eggs, too?"

"Yes," Mina replies immediately. "What is this, are you interviewing me?"

Kai shrugs bashfully. "I have to keep up with my little sister somehow!" he exclaims, and Mina has to try not to giggle at how upset he looks. Suddenly, Kai sits up. "Oh! Do you still have a crush on the neighbor girl?"

Mina, who is now sitting at the table taking her first bite of ketchup grilled fish, sputters. Her chopsticks fall in two different places, and she fails at catching them.

" _ KAI _ !"

The look on Kai's face is pure delight.

"You like her!" he crows, spinning in a full circle on the stool he's been perched on like he's twelve years old. "I knew it! You used to do everything together."

"That was five years ago!" Mina squawks. Her face is heating up. "It's not like that!" Kai is grinning at her, and Mina knows she has to finish this before he gets his hopes up about her and Sana. She picks up her chopsticks and dissects her fish. "No. Not a chance. That is literally never going to happen."

"Maybe you should give yourself a chance," Kai says, undaunted. He picks up his book again. "Sana's a good kid. You belong together."

Mina gets up from her chair and slaps him in the arm.

  
  
  


It's good that Mina has a dog. Some days she can barely get out of bed; others, she has Rei to coax her outside. This is how Mina finds herself strolling to the pool one day with Rei's leash wrapped several times around her palm. The weather is actually really, really nice if she thinks about it. Rei is certainly in a good mood, bouncing along with more energy than usual, veering off the sidewalk to stick his long muzzle into the shrubbery. He sneezes once, and Mina looks over at him in alarm only to see that he has been sniffing the trout lilies again. He tilts his head up at the little yellow petals that flew out of his nose, uncomprehending, like  _ What is this? This flying thing that smells? _ , and Mina smiles. She has a good dog.

They're walking around the pool gates when Mina sees Sana sitting on a bench near the play castle. Mina hesitates, wondering if she should say hi. Rei plops himself down on the sidewalk, looking up at her with his floppy ears, like  _ Your call, Mina. I can't help you on this one. _

Mina can't help thinking that any other person in the world would be better at this than she is. For a long time, much longer than anything that would be socially acceptable by any standards, she just stands there. At first, she thinks that maybe Sana is reading, which would explain how she hasn't been called out yet; then she realizes that Sana is just sitting there staring into the woodchips with a profoundly blank look. That's Sana's thinking face. Mina remembers it from when they were kids.

She looks down at Rei. "I can't interrupt her thinking face," Mina whispers.

Rei looks at her again, like  _ Really? _

Mina looks at Sana again. There's something lonely about her sitting out here all by herself. At school, Sana was always surrounded by people, the heart of everything. Now, it feels oddly like she's been left exposed. Mina sighs and carefully nudges Rei to his feet.

"Hi," Mina says, stopping at the edge of the playground box. One two three four five six  _ nine _ feet away, to be safe.

Sana blinks, clearing her vision, then looks at Mina with a start. "Hi. Mina."

"Yes," Mina says, like it was a question, and immediately has to fight down her embarrassment. She tries to offer a smile but it feels a little like a grimace. Rei's swishy tail bats rhythmically against her leg; he's happy to see Sana, too, and Sana seems to notice him at the same time, her eyes widening fractionally. "Why are you way out here? What were you thinking about?"

"School," Sana says. "Is that Rei?" At the sound of his name, Rei perks up, his tail wagging harder. "Yes, it is you! Hi! I haven't seen you in forever."

For a moment, Mina worries that Sana is going to pet her dog, but Sana seems to think better of it, leaning back in the bench.

"I guess you're not going to come sit next to me, either," Sana says. She smiles briefly. "Well, that's okay. We can still talk, can't we? I've missed you."

"I live right next to you," Mina says bluntly.

"Yeah, but we never talk," Sana says. "Sometimes it's like we're not even neighbors, you know? I don't know what happened. We used to play together all the time when we were kids."

Mina shrugs helplessly, winding and unwinding her hand in Rei's leash. "Maybe we're not kids anymore."

"Maybe." Sana looks contemplative again. "Do you think we're going to graduate? Or have a prom? Or finish our classes?" Sana scuffs her sandals on the ground, fidgeting with her legs. "Or finish . . . anything?"

"I don't know," Mina says, because she doesn't. Those aren't the things that she has been thinking about.

Sana stops and looks at her, and Mina is jolted by the way she looks so sad all of a sudden. "You were all set to be valedictorian."

Mina just shrugs once more. She'd forgotten about that. "At least I won't have to give a big speech."

"I don't know, Mina," Sana says, looking down again. "I would have liked to hear what you had to say. I just think it's sad."

Of course, Mina has no response to that. There's a pause, and then Sana chuckles to herself without humor.

"Catch me at prom on the Club Penguin dance floor," Sana whispers like it is the joke of the century.

They stay there for a while, Sana sitting, Mina standing a respectable distance away, Rei quietly on standby. It's still March. It's only been days. A spring breeze stirs the air around them, slow and light-headed, and Mina wonders how it is possible for something like this to go on when everything else has stopped. The trees whistle, and the grass waves, and the flowers dance, and it's just so normal and pretty and strange. The weather really is nice today. It just feels so impossible.

Mina looks at Sana one more time, her hair tipped into her face, her eyes staring blankly through the play castle, and tugs quietly on her end of the leash.

"Come on, Rei."

  
  
  


Back at her house, Mina pulls out her sketchbook again with Rei sitting docilely at the edge of her bed. He makes her happy. She wants to draw him. She flips the cover open and keeps flipping, looking for a new page. Her heart hurts sharply when she passes her drawing of the drum kit, a relic from the band where she had spent all these years and which had disappeared so abruptly. She flips past the messages that she wrote to Sana and lands on the last one that she hadn't sent, the  _ I love you. _ , and wonders why she wrote it. In hindsight, it seems like such a strange thing to say. She turns to look at her dog. He turns to look at her, his face completely innocent.

"Rei," Mina says, "I am really bad at this."

Rei stares back at her like,  _ Okay, Mina _ .

Mina looks back down at the sketchbook in her lap. For a long time, she doesn't move. Then she sighs and slowly, carefully rips the page out; ruffles Rei's head; and goes back to drawing.

  
  
  


It's hard to believe that they have been out of school for a week. The moment Mina parks the car, it feels like she could be here for any reason: practice, football game, dance, meeting, school. She sits there doing nothing for a solid minute, feeling useless as the feeling sweeps through her like a phantom bird in her chest. Actually, the reason she is here today is to pick up the drum kit. Mr. Park is going to be there tearing down the keyboards for the mallet players today, so the building is open for all the percussionists to take home instruments.

There are only two cars in the parking lot when Mina steps out, but when she walks into the building, she sees Dahyun carrying an armload of blankets into the band room. Dahyun swivels her head around immediately, and Mina stumbles for a moment, surprised by the blue mask on Dahyun's face. Dahyun herself seems as cheery as ever.

"Mina! Mina Myoui!" she calls, stopping in her tracks to shout down the hall. Dahyun stays there contentedly, waiting for Mina to catch up. "I didn't think I'd see you again!"

"I'm here for the drum set," Mina says self-consciously. Dahyun nods her head energetically.

"That makes sense," Dahyun says. As Mina falls in step, keeping a noticeable distance between them, Dahyun resumes walking. Mina holds the door. "Mr. Park is already in there. So’s Jihyo.”

“Jihyo is here?”

They enter the band room, which is empty except for a few bass drums and, of course, Mr. Park and Jihyo Park. Mr. Park is currently squatting on the floor pulling apart the frame of a marimba. Jihyo is standing off to the side, looking curiously around the band room. Despite her father being the percussion instructor, she never comes here during school. She has her thick shoulder-length black hair pulled up into a bun, a black T-shirt, and long striped track pants over her sneakers, looking every bit like the meticulously sharpened athlete she is. When she looks around, taking in the plaques and the instruments and the scattered chairs and stands that had been left behind, still in vague formation, Jihyo looks almost a little lost. Mina wonders what she’s seeing.

“Mina,” Jihyo blinks, and Mina realizes that they’re staring right at each other. A jolt runs through her. She hadn’t thought that Jihyo knew her name. As Dahyun sets down her blankets near the marimba Mr. Park is working on—Dahyun was the center for their front ensemble during marching season, and next year, she will probably be pit captain too—Mina lingers in the doorway.

“I’m here for the drum set,” Mina says, blankly.

It’s Mr. Park who replies. “Why do you need the drum set?”

“Jazz combo.”

“Oh, that,” Mr. Park shakes his head, smiling reflexively. “You’re not going to need it. I’d be surprised if any of you went back to school this year. I hate to say it, but I think it’s safe to say that jazz combo isn’t coming back.”

Mina looks at the drum kit across the room, sitting where it always sits at the very back next to the piano. Mina feels like she needs it. She bites her lip, saying nothing. Mr. Park goes back to work on the marimba, Dahyun glancing between them worriedly. Jeongyeon and Chaeyoung are busy lecturing a sophomore from indoor percussion, Tzuyu Chou, on the bylaws of bringing home a bass drum; Tzuyu listens with a blank expression but a careful look in her eyes, nodding occasionally to show that she is keeping up. This will likely be the last time that Mina is ever inside the band room unless she can squeeze in a visit during band camp, before she leaves to spend the next four years of her life in Texas, and it really feels a little too normal. Sometimes, she feels like she is just going through the motions.

Jihyo, who has been watching Mina in that same curious way she has been watching everything else, casually walks out of the room.

“Come with me,” she says as she passes Mina, so Mina does without even thinking.

Mina expects Jihyo to stop once they are in the hallway, but Jihyo keeps walking until they are at the side door to the auditorium. She holds it open and walks in after Mina. It’s dark inside, and Mina hesitates, wondering if she should turn on the lights, but Jihyo opens a side door and finds the button no problem.

As the auditorium comes into view under the familiar yellow glow, Jihyo notices Mina’s surprise and says, a flicker of contentment on her face, “I used to do tech for the musicals before, you know, the cheerleader thing.” There’s something about the auditorium that makes Jihyo seem warmer, but maybe it’s just Jihyo. Mina just looks at her, thinking about the parking lot and the band room and how weird it is, the things that make people happy, and how sad it is that, as different as they are, strangers though they are, they will both be gone from here before the year is even over. Finally, Jihyo says what she called Mina for. “You’re Sana’s neighbor, right?”

“Yes,” Mina says, surprised again, but when she thinks about it, she really shouldn’t be. Sana talks to Jihyo all the time. Sana is the kind of person who could start a conversation with a block of ice and come away knowing its favorite food, fear of rollercoasters, and the name of its dog. Jihyo looks away and then back, shifting her weight, as if something is bothering her.

“Did you know she was going to confess to me?” Jihyo asks. She looks at Mina imploringly, completely serious, and Mina’s mouth goes dry.

“What?” she asks.

“No, I guess you wouldn’t. Sorry, I don’t know why I asked,” Jihyo says, a reflexive smile slipping out. Jihyo is so unlike her father sometimes that it’s all the more disorienting whenever their similarities come to the surface in unexpected moments like these. Then Jihyo sighs, and she is back to herself. “She told me after school closed.”

Mina manages, “Did you . . . ?”

“No,” Jihyo says, shaking her head emphatically. “I love Daniel. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be with him. I just feel bad about the way I handled the whole thing. Like, they just canceled school, and cheer tryouts are supposed to be in April, and I don’t know what the team is going to look like next year, and I don’t even know what Daniel and I are going to look like next year, and then the phone rings and there is Sana talking to me about these  _ feelings _ for me and how she thinks she’s finally over them which, well, I didn’t even know she even had them in the first place. I mean, she’s Sana, of course she has more feelings than anyone, but anyway, long story short, I snapped. I know that’s not an excuse for it. I just—Right now, I just want to tell her that I’m sorry for the way I reacted and, I don't know, I'm just sorry that I wasn't listening enough at the time of the call to tell her what I should have told her—because even though I hadn't known the way she felt about me in the past, I’m happy for her realizing that she deserves someone who loves her back.”

“Oh,” Mina says.

They stand there for a long time, the auditorium lights keeping them warm. Mina is stunned that Jihyo would tell her something like this so openly; Mina doesn't think that she herself could ever be that brave.

For this moment, with Jihyo baring this piece of her soul, Mina almost feels like she knows her, and like she will never know Jihyo at all; and like she is getting a taste of another life where she and Jihyo were never the complete strangers that they were in this one, and like she and Jihyo were never complete strangers at all; and, the strangest feeling of them all, like a door is opening somewhere inside her that she can’t even place. She looks at Jihyo suddenly and wonders if Jihyo sees what she sees in the parking lot, in the band room, in the auditorium, if coming here today is visceral, if she already misses these things the same way that Mina does. She wonders if Jihyo has figured out all the things that she listed, or if nothing is ever “figured,” only in the limbic state of “figuring.” She wonders if, like the metal frames scattered around the floor where Jihyo’s father is deconstructing a marimba, they are distant pieces of the same jigsaw puzzle, the selfsame forces that make everything come together and fall apart. She looks at Jihyo’s face, so peaceful and almost happy to be basking in the glow of the auditorium that she probably hasn’t seen since freshman year, and wonders how it’s possible for someone to hold so many conflicting ideas about being sad to leave yet ready to go when all the world is telling them to stay in place.

Jihyo smiles the closest thing to a real smile that Mina thinks she will ever see from her. “Thanks, Mina,” she says softly. Mina doesn’t ask for what.

“You’re welcome.”

When Mina leaves the auditorium, she almost bumps right into Dahyun. Dahyun is carrying a metal beam that looks longer than she is, holding it sideways like a lance.

“ _ Heeeelp me _ ,” she entreats dramatically.

Mina gets the door.

  
  
  


It would be easy to say that Mina was cheered up from seeing her friends again for that brief moment at school and to stop there, because she was, but later, when she pulls the car into the driveway, she feels empty, because she has come back empty-handed. She had been looking forward to taking the drum kit home; maybe even a part of her had been secretly hoping that jazz combo would come back even though everyone had said it wouldn't. Honestly, for a while, the shutdown had felt fake to her, like one day Mina would wake up and everything would be back to normal—and now it's real, and that's not happening. All this time, Mina had been hoping that they would go back to school, but the truth is, she's a senior. They're graduating. There is nothing for her back at school.

For a long while, Mina does not get out of bed. She wakes up, and suddenly having a whole day to spend and nowhere to go seems unbearable, and she goes back to sleep. Sometimes, she thinks she hears her mom coming in to open the window during the day, or her dad cracking the door to check on her when he comes back late from the hospital at night, or her dog shuffling in and out, and she can't bring herself to do anything. This goes on until one day, Kai comes in and plonks a laptop onto the bed.

"Let's make you a Club Penguin account," Kai says. Mina squints up at him, feeling crusty. Vaguely, she notes that it appears to be the middle of the day.

"Club Penguin was discontinued in 2017," Mina rasps.

"Then let's make you an account for fake Club Penguin," Kai says, undeterred. He points to the laptop. "Look, see? The screen is already there, just waiting for your Not-Club-Penguin penguin to enter into this world. You can choose a name and everything!"

Mina is now awake enough to eye him suspiciously. She really doesn't need to ask, because she's been in bed for maybe about a week and this is obviously a ploy to spice her life, but she asks regardless. "Why do you want me to make a Club Penguin account so badly, anyway?"

"Because that's where all the people are," Kai says seriously. It seems like a big thing to miss, but this is when Mina notices that Kai has a chair pulled up to her bed and his own laptop prepared. "Come on, Mina. I figured we might as well do something together while we're here, right? I can be your tour guide and everything. It'll be educational at the very least."

Mina stares him down for a long moment to make sure that he's serious. Then she says, "Fine."

So Mina designs a penguin and sets off into the world, where Kai already has his own penguin ready to greet her. It's clear that Kai has been on here for a while; he even has his own Puffle. He sends her a buddy request, and she declines it a few times to be petty, which cheers her up just a little bit. Kai is true to his word, though, and dutifully walks her all over the map, reintroducing her to shops and stadiums and dance floors. It's kind of amazing how much it matches Mina's memories.

"Why do you keep shouting 'Notre Dame'?" she asks after they've left the snow forts for the town center.

"In case there's anyone else from school hanging around," Kai says easily. Mina realizes now that Kai isn't the only one shouting the name of his college. They pass Stanford, Arizona, Georgia Tech, everyone trying to find anyone. Some of the areas they visit are absolutely crowded with speech bubbles; others are like ghost towns without a penguin in sight. Everyone is together, but it feels weirdly lonely.

After this, Mina spends most of her time playing minigames and dressing up her penguin. This also goes on for days. Even though she knows she's not really mingling like Kai intended, there's something relaxing about being able to go fishing inside the house.

Then one day she gets a buddy request, and it turns out to be Sana.

Of course, this leads to Mina stomping downstairs, shoving her laptop in her brother's face, and demanding, "Since when did you have Sana's number?"

"We're neighbors," Kai says, "of course I have her number." Mina bites her lip, not wanting to admit that she doesn't. Kai continues, "She heard you were also on Club Penguin from our parents, and she wanted to surprise you, so she asked me for your username. I thought it was sweet!"

Mina doesn’t respond immediately, her face heating up. On her screen, Sana’s purple cheerleader penguin is wandering around Mina’s igloo. Mina is painfully aware of the time ticking and the fact that her own penguin still hasn’t said a word. Kai gasps.

“No! You’re nervous,” Kai says, clapping his hands to his face. His mouth falls open. He looks delighted. “You really do like this girl. Oh, Mina.  _ Talk to her _ !”

“I can’t!” Mina says, feeling her voice crawling higher with panic. “Kai, I’m seriously freaking out. There’s a girl in my igloo. What is this?”

“You could start by saying hi,” Kai suggests gently. Mina shakes her head quickly. Kai sighs and turns around so that he’s looking her in the face. “This is Sana we’re talking about. What is so scary about her?”

Mina pales. “I could ruin everything.”

“Everything? I think you’re getting ahead of yourself there,” Kai says, calm as ever, and Mina recognizes that this is him entering Big Brother Mode. She looks down. “Okay, let’s say you do ruin everything. Let’s say you say ‘hi’ and it’s the most offensive thing that Sana has ever heard and now she hates you. You’re only going to be here for a few more months before you go to college, Mina, and then chances are you’re never going to see each other again. You’re going to lose her either way. Maybe you can afford to be brave.”

Mina takes a big breath and waits for her heartbeat to calm down. “You really think so?”

“Yeah,” Kai says.

Mina pivots with her laptop and returns to her room. Sana’s penguin is still there in her igloo, dancing now. Mina smiles when she sees her and writes,  _ Hi. _

That's when, for the first time in isolation, things start to pick up. Eventually, though Mina still isn't entirely sure how, Mina and Sana are playing Club Penguin together full-time every day of the week. Kai was right: All the people are on Club Penguin. Kai introduces Mina to his college penguin buddies, and Sana introduces Mina to her own expansive buddy list, which seems to cover a good chunk of their senior class from power couple Jihyo and Daniel to popular Dance Club president Momo Hirai to bass drum leader Jeongyeon. However, other than the occasional virtual house party, most of the time, it's just Mina and Sana. They compete to make the most outrageous outfits, run all over the map like tourists, play hours-long games of hide-and-seek, and battle so viciously at the dojo that it's starting to resemble something of a Pokémon rivalry. It's shocking how easy it is for them to have fun. Sometimes, Mina glances out the window and Sana will be typing a response with the deepest concentration or staring back at her unexpectedly or just smiling at the screen. Once, Mina forgets what she said, but she types something so funny that she can hear Sana fall out of bed laughing. At some indeterminable point, Mina starts to keep her window open. Sana, who almost always keeps her window open now, immediately takes to the habit of striking up conversations through it even when they're standing next to each other in Club Penguin.

One day, when they're all sitting around in Momo's completely pink igloo, Sana's penguin says,  _ what if!!! we had prom! on the club penguin dance floor!! _ and immediately, the other penguins start clamoring.

_ BUT THAT'S SUCH A CLICHE _ says Jeongyeon.

_ Ppl are getting married in animal crossing, _ Daniel points out, his penguin starting to breakdance unexpectedly,  _ I'd be down for it. _

_ gross _ says Momo.

Jihyo's penguin makes a heart.

_ It could be romantic! _ says Youngjae.

_ ya if u were twelve _ says Bambam.

_ im twelve nd im not old enough 4 this _ says Momo.

_ So romantic! _ says Jihyo.

As the penguin seniors duke it out, Mina sits back and stares at the screen. Then she notices Sana propping an elbow on her windowsill next door, staring at her with an unreadable expression.

"You've been awfully quiet," Sana says. "What do you think about penguin prom?"

Mina hesitates. "It seems kind of . . . sad. Like a consolation prize."

Sana's face turns stone cold serious. "Mina Myoui, I promise you, penguin prom would never be a consolation prize. It's going to be the most amazing thing that ever happened."

Mina honestly doesn't know how to respond to that.

Minutes later, by majority vote, Club Penguin prom is a go. Mina is pretty sure the entire neighborhood can hear the triumphant shriek Sana lets out the moment it's decided.

  
  
  


Swamped with prom preparations, Sana goes under the radar almost instantly. Instead of the dance floor, the prom site is going to be Sana's igloo, and Sana is determined to make it magical. Mina barely spends time with her on Club Penguin anymore, especially now that Sana has made her igloo private in order to, as Sana put it, "Extreme Home Makeover the blocks off of this thing. Get it? Because it's an igloo?" The few times Mina does see her neighbor's penguin, it's entering minigames to farm coins or standing idly in stores buying furniture for hours at a time. Mina would feel lonely, but with her newfound project, Sana is chattier than ever.

"So I have this family friend who's studying interior design at RISD," Sana says, all but slamming her window open after finishing a particularly exciting phone call and nearly scaring Mina out of her chair, "Yeah, I know. Her name is Nayeon, and trust me, she is  _ stylish _ , and she's been at home since spring break, so I asked her if she wanted to help design Penguin Prom, and she said yes!"

"Really?" Mina asks dazedly, capping her black brush pen. She's been trying to get more experimental with her drawings, but mostly she's been drawing avant garde portraits of jazz combo and drumline. So far, her finished portraits include Dahyun freestyle swimming in a bowl of floating tofu and Chaeyoung playing tug-of-war with a rainbow tiger that has no outline, just rainbow streaks for its stripes. Mina is kind of proud of that one, actually.

"Well, her exact words were 'lol why not.'"

Mina stops to look at her. She can feel something like a smile pulling at her lip. "She actually said 'lol' over the phone?"

"I told you she's stylish," Sana grins. Then she notices the sketchbook on Mina's desk. "What're you working on today?"

Mina instinctively wraps her hands around her sketchbook. Art isn't usually a thing she shares. The watercolor has been dry for a while, and the brush pen should be almost dry now, so she doesn't have to worry about the colors dripping, but even so, it feels like somewhere, an hourglass is turning. Sana is still looking at her with her head tilted.

"It's not done yet," Mina warns.

Then she turns the sketchbook around for Sana to see, feeling oddly thrown back to the last time she used her sketchbook to communicate through the windows. It's funny that Sana asks to see this portrait out of all the portraits Mina has been working on these past few days. This time, it's not worded; it's a portrait of Sana in her cheerleading uniform, except all the blue parts have been replaced with shimmering watercolor galaxies. When the outline is definitely dry, Mina will go back and add highlights with her old bottle of Wite-Out. In the meantime, Mina resists the urge to turn the sketchbook back around to check on her drawing and focuses on Sana's face instead. Sana's eyes widen. She stares at the drawing fixedly for a long time, like she's trying to beam it into her brain.

Finally, Sana says, " _ Wow _ ."

For a moment, Mina wonders if Sana Minatozaki is actually speechless. Then Sana snaps awake and immediately begins gushing.

"That's me! That's me and also it's so much more beautiful than me, like space princess beautiful, and I never thought I'd see anything like that ever and it's just really really amazing and sometimes I feel like a doofus because I can't think anything like that much less bring it into existence, not ever in a million years, and here you are doing this amazing thing—" Sana cuts herself off to refocus on Mina's face. Mina is sitting so still that it feels like she's somewhere else, burning from all the praise. "Oh, Mina," Sana says, melting in a way that Mina isn't sure she has the brainpower to process, soft eyes and everything, "I didn't know."

Mina doesn't ask what it is that Sana didn't know. It's like there's some telepathic wave standing between them that's more feeling than thought. Mina is not sure what to do with it.

Eventually, she lowers her sketchbook back to the desk with an awkward smile and gets back to drawing.

  
  
  


Mina's dad spends less and less time at home as the hospital becomes more all-consuming than ever. When Mina was little, she used to imagine it as a Hungry Hippo, always eating, always sucking people in. These days, when Mina's dad is home, he showers in the guest bathroom and sleeps in the downstairs couch before heading off again at precisely 6:30 AM. Mina's mom wakes up earlier to make some food to take with him whenever she can catch him, but it's getting harder and harder to tell when he's coming home at all. He looks tired.

One night when Mina can't sleep, she sits on the doorstep with a blanket and looks at the sky. She forgets that it's April verging on May. There are so many stars, she can almost believe it's spring. It's been spring since March hit. It's so hard to forget about everything else, things that she's sure, in the grand scheme of the world, are matters of the very least concern, like jazz combo, or graduation, or Sunday service, or the way Sana looks at her, just sometimes. She feels like a doofus, sometimes, for thinking of these trivial things when there's a whole wider picture to which she is merely an observer, and most of the time, she's not even that. Mina feels helpless and useless and pointless and fruitless and sorry and guilty and hopeful and defeated and small and perpetually in limbo and, well, Mina just feels. So, Mina looks at the sky.

A car pulls into the driveway and Mina's dad steps out, the sagging of his shoulders barely discernible as he trudges to the door. He doesn't seem to see Mina until he's right there.

"Dad," Mina says, getting up to open the front door with the blanket still cocooned around her. Instead of walking in immediately, her dad stops to look at her.

"Mina," he says and looks tired, but his eyes soften. "Why are you out here so late at night? You're not waiting for the stars to go down so you can turn into a swan and fly away, are you?"

"I couldn't sleep," Mina says, looking down at her indoor slippers next to his loafers. She knows he is going to bed. "Sorry."

"Don't be," he says, smiling faintly. "It makes me happy to see you. Remember to lock the door when you come back in, okay?"

"Okay," Mina says.

As she watches her dad pad into the house, Mina chews on her lip, then says, "I think I like Sana."

Mina's dad stops in the foyer, turning to look at her like a ship in the dark ocean. "The neighbor girl? Good for you. I quite like her, too." The smile is still there, gentler now. "She always compliments your mother's milk bread."

Mina soaks in this. She can feel the stars on her back burning noiseless pinholes into her blanket, watchful and patient, and thinks she might sit outside a little longer before she goes to bed.

"Good night, Dad."

"Good night, Mina."

  
  
  


One day, a penguin flies through Mina’s window and hits her in the face. The plushie is huge and smells weirdly like toothpaste and rubbing alcohol. Mina stares at its undisturbed penguin face, dumbfounded, before thinking to look out the window. Of course, Sana is watching her with one hand pressed to her face, trying not to squeal with giggles. Vaguely, Mina notices that Sana’s nails are glossed. Also, Sana has a flotilla of mint-colored balloons bobbing next to her. So, that’s a thing. Oh, and Sana is holding a poster written in markers and glitter glue:  _ PENGuiN PRoM? _

“All this for Penguin Prom?” Mina asks, mystified.

Sana nods eagerly. “Will you go with me?”

Mina’s mouth goes dry. For one second, it sounds like Sana is asking her on a date, and that would be truly unfathomable. Mina quickly shakes this thought out of her head. School dances have never been her thing, but this is Penguin Prom, and Sana has been working on it forever, and Mina feels like, as Sana’s confidant throughout the project, it would be proper for her to see the product of Sana’s labor, and as Sana’s friend, it would be proper to show her support regardless. Then a frightening thought hits her:  _ Are  _ they friends? What if she is misreading everything? There’s a deeply buried part of Mina that isn’t sure if this is the memory she wants for the end of her senior year, a part of her that feels like going to Penguin Prom could ruin something that never existed at all. Would she really be able to make it a good night? She’s not super close with any of the other seniors. What if Mina does something wrong, and it ruins everyone’s night, and they have an awful prom? What if she ruins Sana’s night? Is Mina really willing to take that risk? Is she really that selfish? Sana is still watching her expectantly, and Mina isn’t sure if there is a correct response for this.

“I don’t know,” Mina says gingerly. “You could send me photos.”

Sana’s face falls. She lowers the poster. “You’re not going?”

“I don’t want to be in the way,” Mina says, fiddling nervously with the penguin plushie’s flippers now. She looks down and forces her fingers to stay still. “You should enjoy your night.”

“I want to enjoy it with  _ you _ ,” Sana says, insistent.

Mina bites her lip.

“Do you want your penguin back?” Mina asks finally.

“No, keep it,” Sana says, ducking her head briefly before redoubling her gaze on Mina, “in case you change your mind.”

Sana closes her curtains, obscuring the balloons, the poster, the glossed nails, and Mina holds the penguin plushie until she can’t anymore.

  
  
  


“Sana told me she asked you to Penguin Prom,” a voice that is unmistakably Jihyo’s says. Mina almost drops the phone in surprise. The last person Mina expects to get a phone call from is Jihyo, not only because her phone never really rings in the first place, but because she wasn’t even aware that Jihyo had her number. Did Kai give it to her? Why does everyone have Kai’s number? When Mina doesn’t give any response aside from flubbing her mouth like a fish, Jihyo prods, “So? Are you going tonight?”

“No, studying,” Mina manages. It’s technically true even if it’s not her reason for avoiding Penguin Prom. AP exams are still coming up this year, thankfully, and she still needs to review.

“I wish you were,” Jihyo says casually. After another pause in which Mina says nothing, Jihyo, as if sensing Mina’s confusion over the phone, says, “What? We may have only talked once, but I know you, Mina. Sana never shuts up about you. It matters to her that you show up tonight.”

“She was in love with you,” Mina says feebly. Her face quickly heats up; somehow, it feels like Jihyo is telepathically giving her an unimpressed look.

“Was. She  _ was _ in love with me,” Jihyo says. “You’re the one she wants to be with. Why do you think she keeps her window open?”

Mina’s heart stutters. “Everyone wants some fresh air sometimes.”

Even as she says it, she’s certain that Jihyo is giving her another telepathic look.

“Even you?” Jihyo asks, like it’s a metaphor, like she knows. Mina doesn’t respond. Finally, Jihyo says, “If you want to be with her, then you have to give yourself a chance, Mina. Open your window. Let the air in, or whatever the kids are doing these days.”

Jihyo hangs up.

Mina is back in her room, alone, sitting cross-legged on the bed. Slowly, she unfurls herself and sifts through the papers on the floor, immediately finding the page from her sketchbook that she had torn out so many weeks earlier.

_ I love you. _

Mina is such a huge, buzzing ball of nerves that it’s actually horrible.

  
  
  


Penguin Prom is, true to Sana’s word, amazingly stylish. Sana’s warehouse igloo is decked out with an exuberant Party Banner, multicolored Marshmallow seating, artfully arranged Pink Sofas, and glittering piles of Dragon’s Gold; there is even a fake buffet with Cocoa Cupcakes and, at the very center of the igloo, a Dance Floor that has devolved into a mosh pit for an impenetrable crowd of penguins dancing in varying degrees of formalwear. Maybe it’s the decorations, or maybe it’s Sana, or maybe it’s seeing everyone in one place, having fun, having the most ridiculously convoluted conversations in the public chat, having  _ prom _ , but there is something incredible about it that makes Mina lose her breath the moment her penguin walks in.

Jeongyeon:  _ THERE ARE GIANT CUPCAKES. I REPEAT THERE ARE GIANT CUPCAKES. WHAT IS THIS. HOW IS THIS. _

Youngjae:  _ Bambam you should dance! _

Bambam:  _ no ur lame _

Daniel:  _ We made it, babe. _

Momo:  _ mm cupcakes _

Youngjae: [Sad face]

Jeongyeon:  _ I ADDED FROSTING TO THE GIANT CUPCAKE. THERE ARE GIANT CUPCAKES AND I CAN ADD FROSTING TO THE GIANT CUPCAKES. OKAY SO THAT’S A THING. _

Nayeon:  _ Ur welcome grl i gotchu _

Jihyo:  _ I love you so much. _

Nayeon: [Wink]

Bambam:  _ ok fine this is cool _

Bambam: [Dance]

Bambam:  _ but not bc i like u or anything _

Daniel:  _ I love u too. _

Momo:  _ gross _

Jeongyeon:  _ OKAY SO THAT IS AMAZING. THIS IS AMAZING. I LOVE PENGUIN PROM. _

Youngjae: [Smiley]

Momo: [Smiley]

Jihyo: [Heart]

Jeongyeon: [Surprise]

Bambam: [Smiley]

Nayeon: [Laughing face]

Daniel: [Heart]

Even just looking in, it makes Mina kind of happy. Even the buzzing in her stomach eases up a bit, almost like it’s melting into a puddle of liquid chocolate. Sana did this. Sana really did this. Here they are. Here is everyone. It’s funny, isn’t it, all of them dancing in an igloo? It’s sweet, isn’t it, all of them dressed up and goofing around, actually making it all the way to their prom? She feels warm inside. She also feels like everything is coming to an end for real, and it takes her by surprise all over again. Everyone here is a senior, and in only another month, they will scatter to the winds. This will more than likely be the last time they get to be together like this.

She almost misses Sana’s penguin, which is busy dancing in the middle of the floor. Instead of a prom dress, Sana’s penguin is wearing a Blue Cheerleader Outfit that bears an uncanny resemblance to her actual uniform. Mina smiles a little. That does seem like Sana. Mina watches her for a moment, then realizes that Sana’s penguin has been oddly quiet this whole time. Peeking through her curtains, Mina sees that Sana’s window is open but the lights are off. Sana isn’t at prom. After the initial plunge her stomach takes at this realization, Mina sits back and contemplates how strange it is that Sana would not be at her own prom. Sana had been more excited about it than anyone. As she is thinking, Mina finds her eyes settling on the blue butterfly in Sana’s blond wig. The Befluttered, Mina recalls, and almost laughs because it’s kind of remarkable how well she knows the Club Penguin catalogs even after all these years. It’s a nice wig, and the butterfly reminds her of spring. Is it still spring? It feels like it has been so long.

Suddenly, Mina has an impossible thought. She tries to shake it off, but it only clings on with greater conviction.

She knows where Sana is.

  
  
  


Mina is running down the stairs when she sees her mother rounding the corner. When her mother sees her, she laughs, “What’s the rush? Isn’t it your prom tonight?”

“How’d you know?” Mina blinks, having stopped on the stairs. “Did Kai tell you? He seems to know everything.”

“I do know everything!” Kai calls, sauntering past them with a cup of Greek yogurt. He makes a goofy face at them before flopping onto the couch and pulling out a book. Their mother turns back to Mina.

“No, Sana told me. She’s such a sweet girl,” she says, smiling warmly. Mina starts to wonder exactly how often Sana talks to her mother, then decides that this is something she can figure out later. She starts to take another step before she notices her mother eyeing her thoughtfully. Seeming to make up her mind on something, Mina’s mother starts up the stairs. “Come with me for a moment,” she says, “I have something for you.”

This thing, Mina finds out, is a dramatic red floor-length slit dress and matching heels. Mina short-circuits when her mother pulls it out, not really computing how this thing has just casually been in her mother’s closet all this time without anyone noticing.

“I wore it to my senior prom,” her mother says, extending it for Mina to take. “Now it’s your turn. Go get your girl.”

“Yeah, go get your girl!” Kai shouts from downstairs, and it’s amazing, really, how full Mina’s heart can feel.

  
  
  


So it comes to be that Mina walks alone in the dark to the local pool in the middle of May in a bright red gown and four-inch heels, holding her breath. In the overwhelming quietness of the night, she can imagine that the neighborhood is holding its breath, too, the houses standing in silent solidarity. Here is another human, here is another neighbor, here is another person who loves someone.

Of course, at the end of her walk, in a glowing white ball gown, looking every bit like a fairytale princess on the bench near the play castle, there is Sana.

“I went to Penguin Prom,” Mina says, watching Sana tense at the sudden sound of her voice. Mina is a ways behind her, and Sana doesn't turn around just yet. “You were right. It’s probably the most amazing thing that ever happened.”

Sana laughs, sounding small, though her shoulders relax a little. She teases, “‘Probably’?”

“‘Probably,’” Mina says, smiling quietly.

There’s a pause. Mina is still standing at a distance behind her, and Sana still hasn’t turned her head. Mina swallows.

“I like you, Sana,” Mina says. “I’ve always liked you. I was just never able to call it what it was. I was scared, and I couldn’t—I didn’t know—”

“I like you too,” Sana says.

Mina’s mouth goes dry.

“I like you, Mina,” Sana says, “and when this—” Sana waves at the darkness “—is over, whether it’s days or weeks or months or years from now, whether we’re stressed-out college kids or sweet little old ladies, I’m going to keep liking you. Except maybe at that point I’ll also get to hold your hand every now and then.”

“Well, for now,” Mina says, finally plodding over to the playground and sitting on one of the swings a respectable distance away, “let’s just talk.”

“I can do that, too,” Sana smiles softly.

Finally, she looks at Mina and bursts into giggles the moment she realizes what she’s wearing, what they're both wearing. The weight of the moment abruptly shatters, and now they're just two high school girls at the local playground, and their senior prom is as wonderfully normal and magical as any other night.

“You’re in a—You’re in a fancy dress, and I—I’m in a fancy dress—I can’t believe we had the same idea—That is actually incredible,” Sana manages to gasp out as she tries to stop laughing. Mina grins involuntarily, her face heating up. Eventually, she stifles her laughter enough to give Mina another soft, contented look. “Alright, I feel less overdressed now. You look amazing. I love you.”

Mina melts. She feels for the ball of paper in her hand and thinks maybe everything is a little probable after all. She feels for the words scratched out in charcoal pencil not so long ago and thinks, maybe one day, she’ll say them back properly. Maybe one day, they’ll be at a real dance, and they’ll pull each other into a real kiss, and they’ll go on a real date, but right now, as Mina crosses her legs on the sidewalk six feet away from the girl who loves her, this is as real as it gets, and she will hold on to every moment of it.

_ I love you. _

And, six feet away, in the folds of her fairytale princess dress, Sana plays with a crumpled yellow legal paper that says the same thing.

_ I LoVE you. _


End file.
